Gables Court

by Alan S. Kessler

  “Sounds great. Did you draw as a kid?”

  “Not a lick! That’s the funny thing. I realized only a year ago I had talent! I was in the bank—I work as a teller on Miami Beach—and this old man comes in and cashes his social security check. He was a regular. Always made me count his money twice and after I did, he’d pat my hand and call me Joan! That day I wasn’t feeling well, my monthly visitor, if you know what I mean, and I wanted to reach over and strangle him! But something happened. I saw his false teeth flopping around in his mouth and the pink and white of his dentures mixing with spit under the bank’s florescent lighting looked amazing! That night I went home and started painting. Haven’t stopped since. I blame my teachers.”

  “For what?’

  “They didn’t see I was special! I lived most of my life without knowing I was an artist! That’s what I mean about fate. That old man, dead now, didn’t die until his false teeth found me! Those teachers screwed up, but destiny never does!”

  “Sandy!” Deep and gravelly, the voice came from across the hall. “I need my medicine!”

  “OK, mommy,” Sandy shouted. “You can watch TV in the next room,” she told Samuel. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Inside it, Samuel walked between high shelves filled with small, glass or plastic pigs. Some wore hats, others carried top coats and canes. A few ate ears of corn. Two drove cars, one squatted in a field, another bit its tail. After twisting the rabbit ears antennae through a number of positions and spreading out its aluminum foil wrapping, Samuel found a TV station. He sat on a flower patterned sofa and moving to avoid a protruding spring, began watching the fuzzy images.

  “No need for that now.” Sandy turned the set off and slid in beside him. Hands close to his sides, he looked straight ahead.

  “Is…is your mother sick?”

  “Very,” Sandy answered as her leg brushed against his.

  Samuel remained rigid, afraid to move.

  “I…I’m sorry…A doctor…”

  “Won’t help,” she told him.

  He turned toward her, almost took her hand.

  “Maybe there’s a specialist. I could try and find one. What does your mother have? Cancer?”

  “Hell no! Mommy’s a drunk! She wants her scotch and that’s what I give her. You’re here, so tonight I left the bottle! Want to kiss me?”

  Samuel did, lightly, her lips feeling like sandpaper.

  “How old are you?” she asked him. Samuel told her.

  “Oh my God! This is just too freaky! We have the same number!”

  “You’re 27 too?”

  Sandy frowned at him.

  “Do I look that old?”

  “No…”

  “Of course not! I look the same now as I did in high school! You have to be careful, Samuel. Even a creative person, a free spirit like me, can get insulted. But I know you didn’t mean it. I’m talking about the number 9. We both have it. You’re 2 and 7, I’m 24!”

  “That’s 6,” Samuel said.

  “Not when it’s upside down! It’s fate! I told you! OK, I’m ready for another kiss!”

  Her lips again scratched him.

  “Now lift my shirt up. The bra has a hook.”

  Samuel wanted a drink. After a few minutes fumbling with it, he got the bra undone. It didn’t fall, her plump breasts keeping the cups tightly in place.

  “Excuse me,” Sandy said.

  When she left, Samuel got up, paced the floor, sat back down and nervously pulling on the knot, unloosened his tie. He knew she would return naked. He liked Sandy and didn’t want to hurt her feelings but wasn’t ready to have sex with her.

  “Mommy’s fine,” she said, walking in, her shirt tucked back into her jeans. Snuggling next to him, Sandy looked up mischievously. “Where were we?”

  “Your pigs are cute,” Samuel said while inching away from her. “Have you been collecting them long?”

  “They’re daddy’s. He left them when he left us. We had a lot more. Mommy broke them. I’ll tell you why he liked pigs so much. He was one! I keep these so I can remember him. He’s dead, but the pig in him lives on! Isn’t that funny?” She didn’t laugh. “Will you massage my back? When I stand and paint, after a few hours it starts to hurt. All artists suffer for their work! But I’m lucky. I have you!” Sandy flopped face down on the sofa.

  Samuel reached over.

  “Hop on, don’t be shy. All set? Now go under my shirt. Up and down. Is my bra in the way? Unhook it again. You know how. Are you sweating on me?”

  “No, never,” Samuel quickly wiped his face.

  “No poking back there!”

  “I wasn’t! I wouldn’t—”

  “Just kidding! A little harder. There. All done!” She pushed up quickly, Samuel losing his balance and falling backward. “I’ve got to pee!”

  Alone again with the miniature pigs, Samuel felt them looking at him. Where these the eyes of Sandy’s dad, the pigs avatars channeling his presence into the room to wonder how a man could be such a fumbling fool? If so, Samuel agreed. Women remained a mystery to him. The few he had known were so different he’d never been able to figure out any general rules. Was all this Sandy’s idea of foreplay? Did she plan on getting married and having kids? Even if this time she stepped in nude he planned to ask her what she wanted from him, expecting to hear with her answer the pigs’ derisive snorts of laughter.

  Her pajamas bright orange, her slippers pink, floppy-eared bunnies, Sandy walked over to Samuel and head against his stomach, gave him a big hug.

  “I had a really nice time tonight. I don’t want to wait for you to call me again. What’s your number?”

  He told her.

  “I’ll remember that. Artists have great memories. We paint from the mind!”

  At the door she reminded Samuel to drive safely. He left happy.

  The next day, Monday, Samuel came home late after a meeting in Little Haiti, the community concerned about the rumored building of a detention facility in Miami to hold future asylum seekers from the island. He didn’t turn the lights on and headed straight for the bedroom.

  The phone rang. Reluctantly, he stopped and picked it up.

  “I’ve been calling all night,” Sandy said cheerfully. “Have you already forgotten about me? Gone out on a date?”

  “No, Sandy, nothing like that. I met with some people.”

  “A lawyer’s job is never done! You must be tired.”

  “A little.”

  “Too tired to see me? I thought we could start where we left off, a backrub and take it from there.”

  “Sure, that’d be nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “Yeah. Why don’t you come over?” Samuel waited. “Are you still there?”

  “I am. It’s strange. Sometimes when I’m working on a painting I know no matter how hard I try the colors will never be right. That’s a form of fate too. Some things aren’t meant to be. I hope you make lots of money. Good-bye.”

  Samuel held the phone, the dial tone loud in the dark emptiness around him. What had just happened? He wanted to call Sandy back and ask her. Instead, he uncorked a bottle of wine and while drinking wondered if he, like Hector, would someday be a painting in a room.

  5

  While walking along the edge of the pool, Jennifer’s four year old daughter lost her balance and fell into the deep end. Dressed after spending the night with her mother, Samuel jumped in and pulled the little girl out. The child ran off, chasing a ball.

  “Thank you,” Jennifer said as he stood beside her lounge chair. “Peggy’s
such a brat! Don’t get me wet, Samuel! And you’re blocking the sun!”

  He stepped back.

  “I’m looking forward to tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?”

  “7, 7:30, whenever you like,” Jennifer answered. She lathered on more suntan lotion and went back to sleep.

  Dripping, Samuel took out his car keys and left.

  The next morning, he walked quietly past Pierre sleeping on the couch, and at Miracle Mile bought a brown leisure suit, matching shirt and shoes.

  A sheet around him, his face thin and unshaven, Pierre sat up when Samuel returned home.

  “Hello, Mr. Samuel. I see you’ve been shopping.”

  “New clothes for tonight. I want to look sharp. I have another date with Jennifer!”

  “Wonderful! Maybe she is your girl! Did you tell me about this last night?”

  “No, you weren’t feeling well.”

  “You are a kind man,” Pierre said. “I wish you only happiness.” He glanced at the white wall clock. “11:00! So late! I need to see Lovely! Ask her to again forgive me. She gives me so many chances and I piss on them all. I will wash this sheet and pillowcase first, Mr. Samuel.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you get dressed. I’ll make lunch.”

  “I’ve bothered you enough. Lovely is waiting and I’m not very hungry. My stomach hurts,” Pierre rubbed it.

  “You need to eat,” Samuel put his bag down and in the kitchen made grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “Food is ready,” he called toward the bathroom, poured two glasses of orange juice and sat waiting at the small glass table he’d neatly set with plates and silverware.

  Shaved, showered, his thick black hair plastered down, Pierre joined him.

  “This looks good.” He took a small bite, sipped the juice. “You always let me stay here. Thank you, Mr. Samuel.”

  “My home is yours,” Samuel said. “Shit, Pierre, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  “I know that. My drinking lost it. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “I was thinking…After you patch things up, and you will, Lovely always takes you back, you two should come over and have dinner with Jennifer and me. Does Lovely like Chinese food?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “What is it, Pierre?”

  “My marriage is not very good. My fault, I know. It will take some time to straighten things out.”

  “A few days, like in the past! Let’s get together Saturday night in two weeks. Find out what time is best for Lovely. I’ll tell Jennifer. There are holidays and birthdays too. We should start celebrating them together.”

  “Lovely can’t come,” Pierre said, head down.

  “OK, another day. She can choose.”

  Pierre looked up. His deep set eyes bloodshot and fearful, he nervously rubbed his face.

  “She cursed your home, Mr. Samuel.”

  “What? Why would she do that? Because I let you sleep it off here.”

  “Old women have funny ways. Who can understand them?”

  “Tell me, Pierre.”

  “She believes you stole this house from us.”

  “You were behind in your payments. I paid you money. She shook my hand and looked happy!”

  “She wasn’t. Lovely thinks you used your lawyer tricks. She isn’t me. I will always be grateful you helped us.”

  Samuel pushed his plate away.

  “Don’t be angry with her,” Pierre said. “Lovely didn’t curse you.”

  “Do you believe she could?”

  “I am a Catholic and pray to saints. I pray for you, I pray for me. God will protect us both.”

  “Are we friends?” Samuel asked.

  “You are a kind man,” Pierre again told him.

  His head hurting, Samuel got up from the table.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a nap.”

  “Rest, Mr. Samuel. I can clean up here.”

  “I’ll take care of it later. Go see your wife.”

  In his bedroom, he heard running water as Pierre washed the dishes, Samuel’s thoughts about Jennifer and Lovely floating along on the sound until by the time the front door quietly closed, the two women had disappeared inside a park.

  A little, towheaded boy with big blue eyes ran toward his parents, their faces in shadows. Laughing, they closed their outstretched arms around him.

  “He is so beautiful,” Samuel said in his sleep.

  “I love you,” Kate whispered.

  Samuel awoke squeezing his arms together, nothing between them but late afternoon shades of dust. He took time to dress, stood back from the bathroom mirror and turning, analyzed his appearance, happily concluding he looked sharp in his new suit.

  Anxious to leave, Samuel hesitated before deciding to answer the phone.

  “Mr. Baas?”

  “Yes…”

  “My name’s Debbie. I’m Jen’s sister. She can’t go out with you tonight.”

  “Is she sick?” Samuel asked. “Did something happen? I hope little Peggy’s OK.”

  “Everyone’s fine.”

  “But you’re calling, not Jennifer.”

  “She asked me to.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Baas. She doesn’t want to see you anymore. I’m really sorry.”

  After hanging up the phone, Samuel sat down with a bottle.

  Maybe Lovely won’t forgive him. We can drink together.

  Samuel drank alone.

  Still wearing his leisure suit, shirt, and shiny brown new shoes, he passed out on the couch.

  I’m back. I remember.

  “I was a sexual athlete,” Leo says. Do you know how many men I fucked a year?”

  “I don’t care,” I tell him. I sit in my usual place facing the couch, Hector still on his chair.

  “Of course you do! Why else would you spend time with an old fag! Over two hundred! I was insatiable! For awhile, I kept notes. Names. Dates. I guess I was as meticulous in my record keeping as mother was with her rents! For me, sex. For her, money! But there were too many!” Laughing, he coughs up blood. I bring him another towel. It’s our routine. “Hector wanted monogamy. It didn’t save him. He died too. But I think giving yourself to one person might be interesting. If I get better, I’ll give it a try!” He smirks, suddenly looks afraid. “I don’t want to die. Do you think my parents were right? God is punishing me?”

  “No god causes cancer,” I answer.

  “The doctors don’t know what it is. Gay cancer sounds less terrifying than dying from something unknown.”

  “It’s still just a disease.”

  He reaches for his teacup, stops, his hand shaking, then pulls the blanket tighter around him. His eyes sad and haunted, he glances at Hector, then me.

  “This picnic ended in love making for him. I felt only revenge. His boyfriend had tried to keep us apart. Hector went back to him and their little farm. Did I know I was sick then? No. But what I did killed him and probably more. Do you still believe I’m not damned?”

  “I had a son. He died.”

  “How?”

  “He died because of me. My girlfriend had an abortion.”

  “And you think that makes us the same? I lived for sex. I dieted, worked out, waxed my body, bleached my hair, did everything I could to look desirable. You got a girl pregnant. It happens. I’ll tell you this, Baas. Keeping my tan was a priority. On a sunny day, I wouldn’t have gotten off my lounge c
hair to save a drowning kid. I understood nothing.”

  “You understood Hector’s love. You painted it in his eyes.”

  Head down, Leo starts crying. I wait until he again looks at me.

  “I’d like to do something for you?”

  “Yeah? What?” he asks.

  “Shave your face.”

  “You’re not afraid to touch it?”

  “No.”

  “How brave. Or maybe it’s pity. Makes no difference. Put Hector back first.”

  On the couch, Leo leans his head close to mine as I lather on soap and with slow, careful strokes shave off his beard.

  “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful,” I answer and hold his hand.

  Deep asleep, Samuel looked into Leo Damour’s eyes.

  6

  Her bejeweled hand blue-veined and claw like, Mrs. Pindergast held out the stiletto shaped lighter.

  “If you would,” she said and waited.

  As Samuel lit the cigarette, she slid her bright red fingernails down his arm. Although 30 years old, he still blushed. Samuel stepped back quickly.

  “Do you have an ashtray or should I just drop my ashes on the floor?” she asked. “Is that office etiquette in Little Haiti, some charming native custom?”

  Samuel hurried into the reception area, returned carrying a small dish cluttered with cigarette butts.

  “Make sure you return that!” Vera called from the other room.

  “Yes, I could tell right away you have a secretary with class,” Mrs. Pindergast remarked. “You were recommended to me. After seeing that woman and this office, I wonder why. Are you drab too?”

  “I, I’ve been doing immigration work for awhile,” Samuel said, not sure how else to answer.

  “So I was told. I’m here with Camila. She’s an excellent domestic but thinks she can work for someone else. I want to keep her.” She jabbed her long cigarette into the ashtray.

  Head down, hands clasped, wearing a dark gray uniform and white apron, the young woman sat behind Mrs. Pindergast who sparkled with diamonds: rings, bracelet, earrings, and a solitaire pendant in platinum centered on the zipper line of her form fitting, gold jumpsuit.